


Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star

by GwiYeoWeo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Astral!Noctis, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Prompto just wanted a friend, Slow Burn, and some xenophobia bc the lucians are still iffy about the niffs, but surprise! he gets a boyfriend, clarus is chill too, just a little political tension, no war no prophecy no problem, rated for uh... language, regis is chill, who's also a god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-23 12:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: “Watch yourself,kid,or you'll be seeing stars."“Well, guess what?” Noctis had dropped his knees slightly. And with all the fury of a burning star, he slammed his fist up into the Crownsguard’s jaw in a brutal uppercut before either of them had time to blink. Prompto was pretty sure there was a kungfu movie with a similar title. Fist of the — South? West? — Star or something.“Twinkle twinkle, motherfucker.”The Hexatheon were powerful gods, anyone would agree; legends and myths were passed through the generations, some written in dusty old texts or whispered to young ears at bedtime. Others existed out of the circle, obscure as they were considering the fervor given to the big Six, but they still existed.For example, though Bahamut remained their patron god, the Lucians often pay homage to a certain Astral: Noctis, the Stellarian, the Wish Maker. And if the legends were true, Prompto figured it was worth a shot.He just didn't expect the Astral himself toliterally drop into his arms like a freakin’ falling star.





	1. starstruck

**Author's Note:**

> This uh... This is actually one of the first ffxv fics I worked on. It just sort of sat there waiting for its final edits that I uh... didn't get around to doing until now  
> lul  
> anyway, this was inspired by some pokemon gifset with that jirachi marshmallow pokemon thing, and that one 'falling/wishing star' scene in lilo and stitch. so. 
> 
> no beta we die like reggie-o

The gods were not to be trifled with, Prompto knew, and they could be as gentle as they were fierce.

Solheim had been born from Ifrit's fire only to be burned at the end, and Titan could very well drop the meteor he's been holding for eons at any given time (the guy definitely did not skimp out on arm day). Accordo had Leviathan's favor until the Tide Mother would decide to swallow the nation beneath her waves, and who knew what Bahamut could do to Insomnia, especially with all those giant swords of his. Though maybe Shiva could be a testament to that, seeing that she was busy burying Niflheim in ice and snow for pissing her off recently for whatever reason.

Old man Ramuh seemed content to just bless the rains down in Duscae, so he was a pretty chill dude in Prompto's opinion.

Prompto flipped through the pages of the 3rd edition _Cosmogony: Volume 5_ , lounging in sweatpants and a simple tee. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and wiggled around to get in that perfect comfy position, shoulders and back slumped against his plush couch. Beside him, his phone cycled through his playlist, all filled with instrumental music to read to. And honestly, he needed it if he ever wanted to get through a book or a study session, just to help drown out the busy drone of the loud Insomnian streets. Past dinner time and the city was still buzzing with life and thrumming its fanfare.

Now, he didn’t mean to complain. He was thankful that the foreign student exchange program included free housing. He had a nice, well-furnished apartment thanks to Insomnia’s education department, right outside the edge of the university’s campus. Unfortunately, the location meant he was plopped right in the heart of the city, where sirens and the thrum of engines were the most rampant. Prompto had quickly invested in a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

Ignoring the hustle and bustle of city life, he idly tapped his fingers along the edge of his book as he skimmed through the text and images. The whole thing was dedicated to the Hexatheon and tales about Oracles and Chosen Kings. He read enough about that to commit to memory, but he was searching for something else.

The librarian had said the fifth volume was his best bet at finding info about the lesser Astrals, the gods that weren’t included in the Six’s circle. In his search for knowledge, he had come across a few research papers arguing about Carbuncle’s place among the gods; some argued that the little fox was simply a messenger, others were convinced it was an Astral itself. There had also been scholarly articles about twin messengers, often depicted as dogs, and whether or not they were more than what they presented as. But to be honest, Prompto didn’t care for any of them.

He was interested in the Stellarian, who had been frustratingly elusive despite all his mind-numbing efforts.

Prompto was beginning to think he bit off more than he could chew. He shouldn’t have picked an almost non-existent god to write his final paper on. Gods, his grade was gonna take a _hit_.

With a tired groan, Prompto shut his eyes and let his body weight fall to the side. He turned his head into the couch pillows and let out a muffled, frustrated scream.

This sucked. Hard.

Like, sucked _Titan’s dick_ hard.

Maybe, just maybe if he crawled into his professor’s office and offered up a box of chocolates, she’d consider letting him change his topic. But being so far into the semester, he doubted his chances. And, well, the fact that nearly half of Insomnia hated him — professor included — didn’t really help his odds, either.

It was no secret that Lucis and Niflheim had been butting heads over the last few decades. At one point they had been a hair’s width away from declaring war on each other. It wasn’t until the current king, Regis Lucis Caelum, inherited the throne from his father, that the tension slowly smoothed out. Just a couple years ago, the two kingdoms managed to come to a truce. Of course, there had been doubts on this peace treaty. Many didn’t think it would last, or others believed it was all just a ruse for Niflheim to launch a surprise attack. Two years later, nothing happened. Sure, there was still some political unrest between the two nations; it had been, after all, only two years of peace following _decades_ of strained relations.

Which, Prompto figured, was why King Regis included Niflheim when he proposed a student exchange program among all their nations.

He wasn’t going to lie. He had been real uneasy about being shipped out overseas into enemy territory like some sort of sacrificial guinea pig. Alright, it was kind of expected that he be elected as one of the students, since his parents were important figures in Niflheim’s Council, and he had a responsibility to shoulder some off-hand duties here and there. But _still_ . He had felt like a baby chocobo being thrown into a den of Insomnia’s hunting wolves. It wasn’t like the Lucians were infamous for being cruel, rabid war criminals or something; but suddenly being told he was going to be sent on an airship to a nation his kingdom was _about to declare war on_ had been pretty nerve-wracking.

And it wasn’t like his fears had been entirely unfounded, anyway. He hadn’t expected a nice champagne-popping welcoming party, but their sharp gazes and stiff expressions definitely had him on edge. He had been greeted with a cold formality and a robotic process like they just wanted to get him off their hands as quickly as possible. The whole thing had taken a few hours of verifying his visa and personal documents and whatever, and a quick audience with King Regis himself — _holy shit holy shit_ , Prompto had repeated as a mantra — that surely involved a sweaty and shaky handshake. It was hard to remember; he had been close to passing out from anxiety, and he was pretty sure he had disassociated sometime during the whole thing, because the next thing he had known, a door shut behind him and he was standing in a brand new apartment.

As much as he’d like to say the worst was over, he couldn’t. He knew there was still tension between the two nations, and that he would be bearing the brunt of it. It was easy to tell he was a foreigner, a Niff, with his characteristic light hair and light blue, almost violet eyes, and the people of Insomnia had no trouble singling him out. On good days, he’d only hear whispers and gossip behind his back, followed by a snicker or a stank eye. And on bad days, well, sometimes things bordered on physical. He’d just _coincidentally_ trip on someone’s well-timed foot, or someone would _accidentally_ bump into him with a full cup of scalding hot coffee.

At least, it seemed all of Insomnia seemed to know he was part of a government-sponsored program, and they had this unspoken rule to not mess up whatever chance they had of keeping this peace treaty. Which meant, not beating up the son of some very important government figures of a certain nation. Prompto had that, at least. Though sometimes, he wondered how long that protection would even last.

On the bright side, he made some fairly nice acquaintances so far. Ignis Scientia hailed from Tenebrae and was part of the student exchange program. The guy was a damn good cook, and his kitchen skills were only matched by his spectacular grades. His prowess over daggers, though, were a close second. Gladiolus Amicitia, on the other hand, turned out to be the son of the King’s Shield. _The Shield_. When Prompto had found out, all he did was leave his jaw on the floor until Gladio had laughed it off and picked it up for him. Okay, yeah, no wonder the guy was ripped as all hell, holy fuck!

But while they were pretty cool people, they were just that: acquaintances. There wasn’t a single person he could call a friend. And why would anyone want him? He was just a dirty Niff in their eyes.

And though he didn’t want to think he was _that_ desperate, he turned to the only thing he had left — prayer.

It wasn’t a new concept, especially not to Prompto, having enrolled in several history classes that included the gods in their curriculums. The Hexatheon were powerful gods, anyone would agree. Legends and myths passed through the generations, some written in dusty old texts or whispered into young ears at bedtime. He learned ancient Solheim used to pray to Ifrit, but their hubris led to their downfall. Sometimes he would see the Lucians offer up their prayers to the Draconian in little shrines dotting across Insomnia, or King Regis himself leading a procession dedicated to Bahamut on channel eight.

In fact, he had expected just that: for Insomnia to dedicate itself to the Draconian alone. So when he had seen little altars made for a different god, surprise was an understatement. Hell, he had been shocked when he didn’t even recognize the name. Naturally, he had turned to the smartest guy he knew and asked Ignis who the Stellarian was. Turned out Bahamut wasn’t the only god they worshipped.

Though he didn’t have as large as a following compared to Bahamut, the Stellarian — Noctis, his other name — was quite popular.

So Prompto got curious.

And as luck would have it, there was almost _nothing_ on the Stellarian. A Moogle search got him a few business ads (a cruise ship, a jewelry line, and a wine brand) and only a handful of helpful links. From what little he could glean off the internet, he did learn some interesting facts. For whatever reason, the Stellarian preferred the name Noctis, though he’s cycled through other names before, like Noct Gar. More importantly, he was known as the Wish Maker, who took the hopes of people and made dreams into reality (which explained his close affiliation to Carbuncle), and his motif revolved around the night and stars, true to both his name and title.

According to various first-hand experiences, Noctis had dark hair and steel-blue eyes, all topped off with a lazy grin. Prompto wasn’t sure if stories off the internet held any validity, but most of them agreed on at least that much. The only thing was, some said Noctis appeared as a young boy with all the soft sweetness of a child, others described him as a man in his late twenties, mid thirties, or sometimes even fifties, with all the scruff and wrinkled lines around his eyes to show for it. Forums speculated that Noctis was some incorporeal spirit, only appearing in a physical body according to what the witness would feel the most comfortable with.

Literature was less of a help. Most of the _Cosmogony_ volumes didn’t even reference Noctis, much to Prompto’s frustration. Because his professor sure as hell wasn’t going to accept public forums and conspiracy sites as valid sources in his bibliography.

He figured it was his fault for doing research on something that _actually_ interested him for once, because he should have expected at least that much considering his luck. Noctis may have failed him in getting an A on his paper, but Prompto still liked to believe in him.

He sat up from his couch, shoving the _Cosmogony_ text off onto the carpet. He stretched out his arms, feeling his joints pop and crack with relief and satisfaction, and he could feel the ache in his butt when he stood from the couch. As plush and comfy as the cushions were, nothing could stave off the butt ache from sitting for so long. Prompto shuffled across the room and slid the glass door open, stepping onto the balcony that overlooked the streets of Insomnia.

Pictures could never do it justice. As dark as the skies were, the city was alive with all its neon signs and halogen lights. Electricity hummed under the concrete and asphalt, feeding the bright street lamps that lit up the roads. The roar of engines and the cry of sirens made their own loud music, drowning out the karaoke bars that were around each corner. Gralea was a large city in its own right and a leader in growing technology, but it lacked the vibrant life that Insomnia was teeming with.

Prompto leaned forward against the metal railing, gone cold as the seasons changed to autumn. He sighed into the night air, the cool breeze a refreshing sensation on his warm skin and tired eyes. He looked up at the dark sky, saw the thin shimmer of the famous magic-powered Wall that surrounded Insomnia. Whispers said King Regis was planning on dropping it sometime in the near future, once the threat of Niflheim was completely gone.

 _‘If only he’d drop it now,’_ Prompto wished. He understood why the King did what he did, why he kept the barrier up. But the shine of the wall coupled with the light pollution from the city made it awfully difficult to see the stars. It was nearly impossible to tell the them apart from the magic, and he found that especially troublesome when he wanted to offer up his prayers to the god of, well, _the stars,_ because that’s how it was supposed to work, right? It’s not like he could steal one of those mini altars set up here and there across the city, and he was pretty sure that would only make the Lucians hate him even more, if he could.

So Prompto would just have to settle and make do with what he had, pouring his belief into a night sky of fake stars. And just as he had been doing every night for the past few months, he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the dim lights of the skies, and breathed out a quiet wish across his lips.

( _“Hey,” he whispered to no one but himself and the night sky, “I, uh, dunno if you’re actually out there. But I think you do, and so do a few thousand other people, I guess. But if you_ **_are_ ** _out there, and you’re listening, then — well, geez, this is just weird, Prom. Just forget it.”_

_“So, umm, it’s me again, y’know, your boy Prompto.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another, holding an ice pack on his hand, where someone had spilled hot coffee on him. Again. “You’re probably too busy to listen to a pleb like me, but… ”_

_“Guess what, Noct? I can call you Noct, right? Okay, good. So anyway, this giant guy Gladio, the one that’s all buff and shit? Yeah, well, turns out he’s the son of the Shield! Can you believe that?”_

_“But you know, bud, as much as I like this one-on-one thing we’ve got going going on.. I mean, no offense, your holy Astral-ness, but it’d just be nice, y’know — to have a friend that I can actually talk to. Man-to-man. Ya feel me?”_

_“Noctis, please.”_ )

Maybe it was the sparkle of magic, or his eyes were just too tired that night; but for a fleeting moment, he saw the thin tail of a shooting star.

Before he saw the red sole of a boot crash into his face.

And as he literally started to see stars when the back of his head hit concrete, he was pretty sure he heard voices too.

 _“Oh shit, oh shit, Prompto, I am_ **_so_ ** _fucking sorry. C’mon, stay with me here!_ ”

  


 

 _Kweh, Kweh, Kweh_ —

With a heavy groan, Prompto rolled over to his side and slammed his hand on his chocobo alarm clock. On any other morning when he had his wits about him, he would have had the mind to feel bad about smacking the poor chocobo’s head, as plastic and inanimate as it was. But gods, he felt like utter crap. Like someone dropped a cinderblock on his head or something. It’s not like he got shit-faced drunk last night, so why did he —

His eyes shot open, and he frantically threw his blanket off, tripping over his own feet as he practically jumped out of bed. His head, though, wasn’t having it, and his entire bedroom spun around him as his legs gave out. He fell face first, though he managed to get his hands out in front of him to help break his fall, though his forearms might suffer from carpet burn for it. And ohhh god, his head was killing him. And his face. Especially his face.

But yeah, having someone practically shove their boot into one's face would maybe, just maybe do that.

Prompto squeezed his eyes shut, perfectly content with lying on the floor for now, as he tried to recall last night. He had just been minding his business, gazing at the sky and sharing a little one-sided chat with his favorite Astral, when all of a sudden all he could see was red. He could make out the sole of a shoe and some blob, which he deduced to be the person behind the shoe. The perpetrator had been rambling something out, like an apology, then everything had gone to black.

Yeah, that was one way to end a night, he guessed. Whoever the guy was, Prompto hoped he was okay too. Falling from that kind of height would surely result in at least a broken ankle, if not worse.

“Prompto?”

_Holy hell._

His whole body jumped, and he let out the most squeaky scream he ever heard from himself, and practically scrambled on all fours to his nightstand, clawing at the drawer and hands wrapping around the gun he kept stashed there. He never thought he'd have to use it in Insomnia, _wished_ he would never have to — not because he was afraid to shoot but because he had always been taught to shoot to kill. And he was two hundred percent sure killing someone, house intruder or not, would just make him look worse in the Lucians’ eyes.

 _'Yep, so peachy!’_ he sarcastically thought.

What a great turn of events. The guy that fell from the sky and knocked him out, was gonna kill him or rob him or something. Rob him _and_ kill him — if Prompto didn't pull the trigger first. But of all the ways to die, he never really thought of this as a scenario. He wouldn’t even say goodbye to his parents! And as distant as he had become with them, he missed his mom and dad. He loved them, and he knew they loved him too, as much as stressed out council members under the reign of a half-crazy emperor could. But while he knew he wasn't going to die here — or so he hoped, because some self-esteem issues aside, he was a damn good shot — in a foreign nation, an ocean and hundreds of miles away from his parent's, he was so not ready to be thrown under custody for something that really wasn't his fault to begin with.

And he never even got to see a chocobo in real life. He was gonna go to jail without even seeing a chocobo, and he found that so fucking tragic.

“Prompto! Hey, hey, it’s okay. _Shit_ , I’m sorry. Look, I’m not gonna hurt you — well, I guess I already did with, well, last night. And I’m _seriously_ sorry. That, uh. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Prompto’s breath hitched, when he saw the intruder just sort of… Pop in from the edge of his vision. Crouched to the floor, his hands were offered, both palms up and coming up empty. Prompto kept his mouth shut, body still stiff in his stance, one knee perched on the floor and both hands taking their firm aim, and he stared at the guy’s hands. It took him a few seconds to realize that this home invader was trying to prove he had no weapons. Oh, okay.

So, maybe he could work with this? Maybe no one was going to die?

He took in a slow, shuddering breath, willing his body to relax. Prompto swallowed, slowly letting his gaze roam from the stranger’s hands and up to his face. Might as well put a face to the voice, right?

Except, he totally did not expect to see what he saw. The guy, well, looked almost the same age as Prompto. Kinda small, mostly unassuming — except, he was kind of handsome. Pretty, even. With those long eyelashes and deep blue eyes, the dark hair that perfectly framed his sculpted face. He looked like he was carved from living marble, he was _just that pretty_. And okay, Prompto was definitely out of it, if that was the first thing he thought of the man, when he was the same exact person who not only fell from the sky to knock him out boot-to-face but also had the audacity to tuck him into bed after breaking into his home then robbing him. Or something?

Like, seriously, who does that? If all of the city’s criminals were like this, then Insomnia was fucking weird as hell.

“Um, Prom? You okay? Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to land on you like that. That was embarrassing. And — ugh, shit, I’m so not good at this.” The stranger huffed, running a hand through his dark hair, and he grumbled something entirely foreign. Like, okay, that was definitely not a language Prompto’s ever heard before. And _how_ did he know his name?

“Okay, so let’s try this instead. Prompto, I want you to take a deep breath and think. What was the last thing you said last night?” He quickly held up his finger. “Don’t answer that yet. But after you remember, I want you to look at me. _Really_ look at me, okay? No but’s. Just try, Prom.”

“Uh. O-okay?” Prompto managed to choke out. Despite the warning bells screaming at him, that maybe listening to this complete wacko was not a good idea, he did anyway. He did his best and pushed through the raging headache, tried to recall what he had said before this nut job fell on top of him. He had gone to the balcony, talked to the Stellarian like he always did.

_“Hey, Noct, how’s it going? I’m.. I’m doing fine, mostly. A little lonely, though, like always. But one thing: why you gotta be so mysterious? You’re really making me work for this research paper, you know.” He sighed, but not without a light laughter following. “But, honestly? I wouldn’t mind trading a grade for a wish. I mean, I get it. You’re busy, there’s a lot of important people out there. More important than me. But… I dunno, dude. Heck, I wouldn’t even mind if you dropped from the sky and fell on my face, but it’d be totally cool if we could talk one day. At this point, I practically consider you my friend.”_

And then lo and behold, someone had indeed fallen on him. He guessed that’s how the saying went, to be careful what you wish for. And — wait. Wait. _Wait_.

Prompto’s eyes blew wide, and was he breathing? ‘Cause he totally forgot how to breathe all of a sudden. He felt his face drain of blood, and he was pretty sure his jaw was hanging open too. All he could feel was the hard beating of his heart slamming against his ribcage as it climbed into his throat and choked him of his words. Whatever coherent thoughts he had were drowned out by the rushing in his ears, but he was somehow managing to put two and two together. And even when he did, his brain was so fried that his math was giving him five’s and zero’s and fourteen’s.

“Oh. My. Gods.” He barely managed a broken whisper. “Noctis.”

And if he thought his brain was already fried, that dazzling smile, bright and soft like the shimmering stars, threw his brain into a blender.

“The one and only.”

“You’re Noctis.”’

“Yep.”

“Holy shit. No way. No freakin’ way!” Prompto broke away from his stance and crawled his way to Noctis, eyes still wide in shock and surprise, a half smile hanging from his lips in disbelief. He stopped just short of Noctis and sat on his knees, peering at the Astral like he was the most foreign, most strangest, most dazzling little thing he ever had the pleasure of meeting. To his credit, not anyone could just come face-to-face with a god. But here he was. Prompto, just a common pleb, here in front of one, in his little old apartment.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been just staring, but obviously long enough for Noctis to clear his throat and say something.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Noctis suggested, voice all warm with amusement.

“Uh, right! Sorry!” Prompto squeaked. He pulled back, suddenly aware that he was in the presence of greatness. But the sudden movement jostled his brain, and the pain and dizziness was doing him no favors, and he felt himself falling backwards —

Until two gentle hands grabbed a hold of his shoulders, keeping him from bonking his head again. “Woah there, tiger. C’mon, let’s get you back into bed.”

Prompto was about to protest, say that he was fine (he was not, in fact, fine) but Noctis seemed to see through the lie before he even had the chance to say it. Just as Prompto parted his lips to voice his reasoning, the Astral placed a careful hand on his forehead. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with exhaustion, and his limbs turned into putty. Noctis, despite his slim figure and lean arms, managed to gather Prompto together and lift him up with nearly zero effort. Well, he _was_ a god, after all.

Prompto silently let himself be carried back to bed, and soon enough, he was all tucked in again, his gun having been gently pried away from his fingers and returned to the nightstand. The bed dipped where Noctis sat at the edge, and the Astral leaned over him.

“Okay, blondie. I need you to do one last thing for me,” he softly said. “Before you fall asleep, I want you to make a wish. Something like, ‘please fix my broken nose and get rid of this shitty headache’ or whatever. Got that?”

Prompto could only manage a weak nod. Keeping his eyes open was a battle all on its own, at this point. But wait, if he fell asleep, would Noctis still be here? What if this was all some fucked up dream?

Noctis, somehow noticing the distress, patted the poor boy's chest in reassurance. “Don't worry, I'll be here when you wake up. Gotta clean up my mess somehow.”

That mess probably meant himself, Prompto vaguely thought. But well, whatever, he just really wanted to sleep. As he let his consciousness melt away, he made sure to keep Noctis’ instructions in mind.

  


 

Strangely enough, Prompto woke up feeling refreshed and well-rested, which hadn't happened in at least a couple years, not like this. He blinked once, twice and slowly sat up, looking over to his chocobo clock. It was now noon, several hours after his alarm was set to go off. Several hours after all _that_ happened. It felt like a fever dream. It had to be, because after all, that blaring pain in the back of his skull was now gone, and his face wasn't sore and swollen.

Except, Prompto could see where his bedroom door was left ajar, could see _Noctis_ floating around in the kitchen, where the aroma of a strong brew wafted from. And okay, so maybe that wasn't a dream.

Hooooooo, okay. He could do this. He was _not_ going to freak out. He was gonna step out of bed and walk out, all cool and composed. He had this.

With a deep breath, Prompto willed his heart to calm the fuck down, and he quietly swung his legs over the bed, firmly planting his feet onto the ground. He didn't want a repeat of the last time he tried, when he barely missed falling onto his face. So with step one done, he slowly pushed himself to stand, and once he got his knees to stop buckling, he quietly made his way out his room. The bedroom door creaked as he pushed it open, and Noctis. Oh man, _Noctis_ , an honest-to-gods Astral, turned around to greet him with a smile in his eyes.

Good thing Prompto made sure his knees were steady, else they would have turned to jello.

“Hey. Feelin’ better?” Noctis asked, walking over with two mugs in his hands. Prompto nodded weakly, carefully taking an offered cup. “Still hot, careful.” Noctis warned, right as the blonde placed his lips around the rim.

Prompto was quick to pull back; he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of a god by spilling hot coffee on himself. But he may have already done that this morning. How was he even supposed to act in front of a god, anyway? He frowned into his cup, staring at his dark reflection.

“Prompto, you might want to sit down for this.” Noctis’ words jerked him from his thoughts, and who was he to deny the advice of a god? He quietly shuffled over to the couch, sitting at the far end, and let his mug rest on the table.

“So,” Noctis said, taking a seat next to him, “What did you think of Carbuncle?”

“Who?”

“Carbuncle. You met him, didn’t you?”

“Uhh… No? I mean, was I supposed to?”

“Oh.” Noctis hummed thoughtfully. “I asked him to help me patch you up. But I guess you’re one of those who forget their dreams.”

Well, he certainly didn’t remember dreaming at all for the past couple nights. But wait. He met Carbuncle, too? Damn, he must have been a saint or something in his previous life, if he got to meet not only one but _two_ Astrals in less than twenty-four hours. Granted, he didn’t remember meeting one of them, but still. This was pretty sick. Getting kicked in the face and suffering a concussion was _totally_ worth this.

“Wow,” Prompto breathed out, a drunk smile perched on his lips. “This is so cool.”

Beside him, Noctis snorted out of amusement. “Well, I hope so. It’s the one wish you kept asking of me, after all.”

“Oh! Right. I did wish for that, didn’t I?” As excited as he was and how special he felt, he also felt the pressure of making the most out of his wish. This was a chance of a lifetime, and he really didn’t want to waste it. Noctis was probably busy, and he couldn’t spend all day chatting. Prompto almost wished he had a heads up or something, just so he could have made a list of things he wanted to ramble about. But now that Noctis was actually here, sitting on his couch in his one-bedroom apartment, his mind was coming up blank with what to say or do. He felt a brief flash of panic cut through his chest. Every second he spent in silence was a precious second wasted. “I… I actually have no clue what I want to say.”

“Eh, that’s fine.” Noctis waved one hand in the air and took a sip of his coffee. He leaned forward to trade his mug with the remote control, setting his drink beside Prompto’s, and turned on the TV. He slumped back into the seat, lazily rolling his head to face Prompto. “Take your time, man. I literally have eternity.”

Prompto choked on his own spit. “Wha — no, you can’t!”

Noctis frowned, as if insulted. “What d’you mean I can’t?”

“I mean, well, you’re a _god_. You can’t be wasting your time on a pleb like me! You have, you know, more important things to do!”

“Hey, Prompto —”

“And, and, aren’t there like, kings or something you could be listening to instead? Like, uh, King Regis!”

“Okay, Prom, shut up for sec.” Before Prompto could come up with anymore excuses, Noctis reached over with his hands and squeezed the boy’s cheeks together. “You’re half-right. I can’t be wasting time on a single person, especially when there’s millions of wishes out there needing help. But I’m not wasting my time. And I’m not ignoring everyone else either.”

He withdrew his hands, but kept his eyes trained on Prompto. “I mean, it’s not like you know this, so I guess I should explain it to you. Do you know how many stars there are in the sky?” — Prompto made to answer but Noctis shot him a pointed look — “It’s a rhetorical question, don’t answer that. But there’s a lot.”

“You see, blondie, there’s as many ‘me’s’ as there are stars in this universe.” He waved a hand through the air, a trail of blue lights shimmering in its wake, then pinched a tiny glittering crystal among them all and held it up to Prompto.

“It just so happened that I plucked one out of the sky and personalized it just for you.”

  


 

Prompto wasn’t sure he one hundred percent understood it, but he liked to think he got the general idea. Turned out Noctis wasn’t a single individual but rather a _lot of_ individuals that shared a consciousness. Like, a hivemind, Prompto noted.

“Think of it like a giant tree. Noctis is the tree, and the branches and roots reach all across Eos,” he had explained, placing a hand on his own chest, “A branch is a part of the tree, but the tree isn’t a part of the branch. And you could say I’m one of those branches. So in the same way, I’m a fragment of Noctis; but he’s not me.” Noctis had scrunched his nose, grimacing at his own words. “Okay. Yeah, that made more sense in my head. Sorry, not sure how to put it. Shiva would be better at explaining…”

Prompto had shaken his head. He had been pretty sure he got the gist of it. But it hadn’t changed the fact that _this_ Noctis was here to stay, or at least, that’s what the implication was. He had no intention of ruining his perfectly happy moment just yet, so he had figured to store that thought for later. So instead, he had gotten up to walk over to the TV stand, had picked up a pair of controllers while looking at god in the eye and asking, “Play Blade Masters with me?”

And damn was Noctis a fast learner, because Prompto almost had his ass handed to him in their last match. Give or take an hour, and he was pretty sure Noct could master all the characters and their combos, even the ones with like ten inputs. “So, Noct — _ah, shit!_ — you’re really here to stay?” Prompto leaned to his left and mashed his controller furiously, as if the added effort would translate into the game.

“Yep,” Noctis answered, eyes honed in on the screen, shoulders tense and thumbs raging on his controller.

“Neat.”

Noctis’ fighter got K.O.d, and he paused to lower his controller and flick Prompto on the nose. “You got your own personal god here, and all you can say is ‘Neat’?”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Prompto laughed, blossoming with an easy smile. _“Hella neat.”_

“Damn straight.”


	2. starfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto learns the intricacies of living with a god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyooo o/  
> I read over this twice but I'm sure there's still some mistakes here and there lmao

Surprisingly, having a god as a roommate wasn’t too complicated. Noctis seemed content to sit on the couch and play video games or borrow Prompto’s phone to play King’s Knight (until one day when Noctis pulled out his own smartphone from seemingly out of nowhere). Which was great, especially on days when he was swamped with homework or had to study for an exam; he’d hate to leave Noct just hangin’ like that. Sometimes Noctis poked his nose around in Prompto’s study material or borrowed library books, but not usually without commentary — especially when it came to the _Cosmogony_ texts, or anything relating to the Astrals, for that matter.

“Really?” Noctis nearly spat out his drink one night, the night Prompto learned gods could get drunk. In one hand he held a volume of the _Cosmogony_ , in the other was a can of cheap beer.

“Listen, it says here that Bahamut, and I quote, ‘handpicked a pious maiden and bestowed upon her the power of the Stars and his trident.’ _Bullshit.”_ He looked up from the offending text and squinted at Prompto, traces of pink dusting his cheeks. “Listen, Prom. _Listen,”_ his words came in a slur. “Bahamut. Bahamut’s a little bitch, y’hear me? And, and a fuuuhh — a fuckboy.”

Noctis rolled his eyes and slammed his beer down on the table. “‘Bestow his trident,’ huh? Yeah, he gave her his _trident_ alright.”

Prompto choked on his poptart, eyes bulging out his sockets as he coughed out cheap cherry filling and crumbs. “No w-way, man.”

_“Yes_ way. Bahamut got _around_ back in th’ day. It said somewhere, that us Astrals don’t show up around y’humans a lot. Yeah? Well, Bahamut, my man. Nuh-uh, not ‘im.” Noctis tossed his head back and threw his arm up, laughing into the back of his hand. “He would make himself look like, _like a sex god,_ you shoulda seen it. Like a damn twelve-pack and Fabio hair and everything, the whole package. It was _ridiculous.”_

Noctis lifted his head just enough to share a deadly serious look with Prompto. “Between you and me? I think the only reason he’s stuck in that, uh, that Crystal is ‘cause he’s too sex’d out.”

Afterwards, Noctis fell onto his side and cuddled the _Cosmogony_ into his chest, silent for the rest of the night, save for the occasional soft snore, leaving Prompto alone to process his emotional and mental turmoil on his very new, very disturbing piece of information.

And that was one concern that had quickly come up — the problem of sleeping accommodations. Sometimes Noctis would just stay up until Prompto fell asleep, would wait until the boy slapped on his chocobo pyjamas and crawled into bed. On those nights, Noctis would just smile sweetly and tuck him in, pat him on the chest a couple times, turn the light off, and leave the bedroom. Prompto would strain his ears to hear the tell-tale click of the front door. Sometimes he heard Noctis leave the apartment, sometimes he didn’t. In the morning when Prompto woke up, the god would be waiting in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. He never asked about what Noctis did on the nights that he left.

On other nights, Noctis would fall asleep on the couch; and not wanting to disturb him, Prompto would tip toe around the living space and switch off the lights after carefully draping a blanket over him. But like always, Noctis would be waiting for him with his coffee once morning came around.

So when two weeks passed and Prompto had let the guilt and curiosity break off the final chip, he finally got the guts to ask Noctis. “What do you do when I sleep?”

On the floor, Noctis was hunched over. His hands stilled, and he looked up from the 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle he was working on, a photographic rendition of the Citadel. “I sleep. Like you.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you leave.”

“Sometimes I go for a walk. Then I go to sleep,” Noctis shrugged, turning his attention back to the puzzle, “You could say I go ‘back’ to the Noctis ‘tree,’ or to the stars, or whatever. Then I come back in the morning.” He ran his fingers through a small pile of pieces, when his brows quickly came together in a frown. In one swift motion, he stood from the puzzle and flopped onto the couch, where Prompto was studying. “Prompto, I told you. I’m here to stay. If you’re worried that I might just ditch you —”

Prompto shot up a defensive hand. “No! It’s not — well, sometimes I still wonder if this is all a dream and that you’re just like, some hallucination or something. But that’s not really why I’m asking.”

“Okay, so?”

“Well, sure the couch is nice, but it kinda hurts my back after sleeping on it for so long. And, like, I dunno how _this_ ” — he gestured with his hands at Noctis — “really works, or if you even get stiff shoulders from sleeping on a couch, but… My bed’s, uh, a lot more comfortable. So, you could… Maybe, join me instead.” Oh boy, he could feel the heat creeping up his neck and his cheeks.

“You’re asking me to sleep with you?” Noctis asked, lips curling into a sly grin.

“Not like sex! But, well, basically? I mean, not like I wouldn’t want to! Like, Noct, you’re totally hot, with this whole dark and mysterious cool vibe going on, but uh. Just, I mean, I totally see you as my bud. But it’s not like we could get something more going on later — and how would an Astral and a human even do this dating thing anyway — and does that, did that even happen before? I, I mean Bahamut was going around banging everyone, like you said, and I’m not slut-shaming any gods or I might get electrocuted or something but… I, uh.” Prompto covered his face with both his hands. “I’ll just shut up now.”

He knew this was a bad idea. Oh gods, he just wanted to sink into the couch and let it eat him. Hell, he’d even be okay with Bahamut striking him down right here and now for blasphemy or whatever.

Noctis, however, took it in stride and laughed it off. “Sure, Prom,” he said, reaching over to pat the poor guy on his shoulder.

And just like that, it was done. Prompto felt the shift in weight on the couch, and he peeked through his fingers to see Noctis back on the floor, working on his 1000-piece puzzle.

That night — and for most nights thereafter — once Prompto packed up his textbooks for tomorrow and threw on his cactuar PJs, Noctis slinked through the door in a pair of black boxers and a loose tee, climbed into a bed that seemed to fit two people _just_ right. Somewhere along the way Prompto discovered he liked being the big spoon and that Noctis had no problem tucking himself in between his arms.

(Prompto did have to wonder, though, how and where Noctis got all his clothes when he never went shopping.)

 

 

 

“Hey, Noct.”

“M’yea?” he answered through a mouthful of pizza. Apparently Astrals didn’t need to eat, but Noctis could still enjoy flavors and spices and textures. He had quickly developed a habit of picking bits and pieces from Prompto’s food, or digging around the fridge for some cold meats or half-eaten leftovers that were a touch too ripe. Which worked perfectly, actually. Prompto wasn’t a starving college student, as he had a government stipend as well as a decent sum gifted from his parents to tide him over. Thing was, his budget was meant for himself, and himself only; he couldn’t really spend funds on feeding an extra mouth. So the fact that it was impossible for Noctis to starve definitely came as a plus.

“How come you look like that?” Prompto kept his eyes on the screen of his laptop, fingers typing away on his keyboard, only stopping when he realized that maybe his words weren’t the best choice. “I mean, like, my age. Some people said you were a little kid, or an older guy.”

_‘Or a dilf_ ,’ he thought to himself. Many of the posts that claimed Noctis as an older man, definitely did not leave out their biases and chose descriptions like “hot dad” or “daddy Noctis.” But the Noctis who was with him now, in the flesh and in his apartment, was scavenging his fridge with a half-eaten slice of pizza hanging from his mouth like some backstreet raccoon. And his looks _barely_ passed as a young adult. There was still some softness of youth cushioning his features, a fairly slim but lean physique that girls would absolutely gush over. With his long eyelashes and smooth skin, he was the picture-perfect “pretty boy” Prompto had seen and heard his high school classmates squeal about way back then.

But, as Prompto paused to glance at Noctis, he could kinda see it — the whole “daddy Noctis.” He imagined an older Noct, the baby fat melted away to reveal sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut mythril, and maybe a trimmed beard to add some age. Would older Noctis have longer hair? Or maybe a cropped hairstyle? Noctis would probably keep his lean muscle, but maybe broader shoulders or something. What were even the requirements to be “daddy” anyway? Obviously it didn’t include having an actual kid though. (Did… Did Astrals even have children? _Could_ they?)

“Well,” Noctis said, shutting the fridge door with his hip, each hand holding cartons of two-week old takeout, “I pick whatever floats their boat.” He set them on the kitchen counter and picked the lids off, leaning his face down to sniff the contents. He wrinkled his nose at one of the leftovers but chose to stick a fork in it anyway, twirling the cold noodles around before taking a bite.

“Dude, I don’t know how you do that,” Prompto gagged. “Or why, even.” He supposed it was his fault for not eating them sooner, for letting them go rancid. But that’s just one of the perks of having an ancient deity for a roommate, he justified. In the same way Noctis didn’t have to eat, he didn’t get sick from eating expired food bordering on mold and fungi. What would otherwise go into the trash or down the drain, went straight into the god’s stomach. Recycling at its best.

“If you’re talking about the food,” Noctis said, after swallowing down the slippery noodles, “It’s not _that_ bad. Does taste kinda funky though, like artisanal cheese or something.” He swirled his fork, the carton making a distinct sound of something disgustingly wet and thick. “There might be some mold though, unless that’s just fuzzy cilantro.”

Prompto was pretty sure there was a blasphemy law or something out there, that strictly forbade people from offering gods old-ass food and moldy noodles. He learned last week to not think about it, however, and to let Noct eat what he wanted.

“But if you’re asking why I’m a twenty-something-year-old, it made the most sense.” Noctis tossed the empty carton into the trash and pointed his fork at Prompto. “Figured you’d want someone around the same age. I’m ninety-nine percent sure you wished for a friend, not a little brother or a dad.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Fair enough. I guess it’d get kinda old having to stop for old ladies that want to squish your baby cheeks.” Prompto paused, remembering the posts of people drooling over middle-aged Noctis. “Or crushing on hot dad Noct.”

That managed to pique Noctis’ interest, however, and his fork stopped mid-air on its way to the second carton. “Hot what who?”

Prompto realized then and there that Noctis did not, in fact, realize how badly people were thirsting for him.

“Oh, man, Noct buddy. The thirst out there is _real_.” Prompto laughed and pulled up a new tab, clicking on a link he bookmarked long ago. He scrolled through a few pages as Noct made his way to stand behind Prompto and look over his shoulder. The blonde stopped at a juicy string of replies and posts, angling the laptop screen so they could both see. “Your fans are so wild, my guy.”

>     ** >** I hope all the gods are as handsome, if only i saw him shirtless lol  
>  ** >** Omg ur not the only one. If i knew he looked like a hot piece of tall dark and gorgeous, i would’ve been soooooo much more specific with my wish. ;P

Some of the posts were a little more flattering. Others, less so.

>     **>** do u guys think that if i wished hard enough, he’d sit on my face  
>            **>** honestly? I don’t know if i want to pound that sweet ass or get rekt by him    
>  ** >** y not both? ;D 

Prompto wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Noctis took it… Pretty well. In fact, they spent a good few hours bonding and laughing over the sheer thirst of these people. At some point in the night, they even came up with a drinking game.

“I mean, technically, this one mentions ‘daddy,’ ‘bondage,’ and ‘babies.’ So that’s what? Half a beer?”

Which quickly became a bad idea. Prompto was sure his liver was going to fail on him by his umpteenth bottle. Noctis — and _damn_ him, and his stupid Astral powers — seemed to be unaffected despite having just as many drinks. He was cheating, using magic or whatever, to flush the alcohol out of his system, and Prompto whined as he was guided into the bedroom. This was _so_ unfair. He was never going to have a drinking contest with Noctis ever again.

Unceremoniously, he was dropped onto his bed, and a pillow bounced off the mattress. “Ugh, ‘eyy, I’m delicate goods, y’knoooow,” Prompto groaned, rolling onto his side and burying his face into the blanket. It wasn’t a soft landing, and it probably would have actually hurt if not for the alcohol numbing his systems.

“Yeah? Pretty sure those posters would be more than happy to be thrown into bed by yours truly.” Noctis picked up the pillow and gently tossed it at Prompto’s head.

“Pfft. And now what?” Prompto pulled the pillow off his face and tucked it under his head. “You’re gonna _ravish_ me, oh Mister Noctis?” he said, with half-lidded eyes, though his wiggling eyebrows killed whatever attempt of seduction he was aiming for.

Noctis snorted and crawled into bed, shoving Prompto to make space. “Pretty sure you said you’d rather do the ravishing, oh Mister Prompto.”

“Mmm, too tired to do any ravishing.”

“Then stop talking and get some sleep.”

“Okay-dokay,” he said, a pinch too chipper. ”G’night, oh Mister Noctis.”

Noctis placed a chaste kiss on his nose. “Night, nerd.”

 

 

 

It was winter break when Prompto would finally introduce Noctis to his acquaintances. (He had gotten an A on that research paper; not because of his stellar writing, but because Noctis insisted on meeting the professor himself, and that was a whole story for another day.) The Amicitias were having a potluck, and Gladio had invited Prompto and Ignis. It went without saying that Prompto was freaking the fuck out, when he read the text.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” He had been pacing back and forth, hands rubbing nervously at his face, for a good while now. “I'm invited to the Amicitia's. The house of the _Shield_. This is, like, huge!”

Noctis was on his bed, sitting up against the headboard when he swiped through Prompto's phone, reading the text that had gotten him so riled up. “Uh-huh. That's what it says,” he said, not impressed at all. “It's just a little party and some food.”

“Noct!” Prompto swirled around and stomped over to Noctis, clamping his hands on the other's shoulders. He looked at him dead in the eye, with all the seriousness of a soldier marching towards his death. “The _Shield_ . They're like, almost _royalty_.”

Noctis shrugged, expression remaining bored. “So? Your parents are in Niflheim's Council. You're basically in the same boat as that Gladio guy, even if you keep calling yourself a pleb. Which, you know, you're really not.”

Prompto just gave an indignant shriek as he fell over Noctis’ legs and buried his face into the blanket. “It's not the same,” he groaned.

Noctis may have a point about their social classes being not so different, but it's not like a god could understand the struggles of lowly humans. Back in Niflheim, it wasn't as if Prompto was even well-known; he was just the kid of some government officials. The Amicitia family had this prestigious pedigree and a noble, gallant history to boot. If anything, Prompto really was a pleb in comparison.

Noctis drew his legs from underneath Prompto and laid on his side, parallel to the other. He gave a few sympathetic pats on his back but rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “You're really freaking out about this, huh?”

Prompto wordlessly nodded, face still glued to his bed.

“You can pass, you know. That's totally an option, in case you forgot.”

Prompto finally lifted his face to stare at Noctis, a stubborn frown pulling on his lips. “No way. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.” He rolled onto his back and sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “Gladio's pretty cool, but I guess the issue is with everyone else that's gonna be there. Everyone knows I'm a Niff, and well.” He waved his hands in the air, letting the implications speak for him.

“And Lucis is still on edge with Niflheim,” Noctis finished for him. “I know. I've seen the way people look at you.”

The sneers, the whispers, those eyes. But it wasn't as bad as it used to be, when Prompto was alone. Noctis’ presence itself was comforting, filled a hole in his life that had been there before he even arrived in Insomnia, but it also provided another form of relief. Walking the streets alone left him too vulnerable to the baleful stares and whispered curses. But with Noctis, who looked every inch a pure-blooded Lucian, walking side by side and laughing over shared drinks or stealing fries, it made all of them second-guess themselves. He could tell by the confused or surprised expressions, and he sometimes caught the weird looks they gave. It filled him with a sense of gleeful vindication.

(Noctis had easily caught on — or rather, he had known from the start. On their first outing together, he had made damn sure to be as touchy-feely as possible or laugh just a tad too loud at bad jokes, he had admitted to Prompto.)

Noctis looked at the message again, skimming over the short three lines of text. “You know,” he said, his eyebrows perking up, “I can come with. He said you could bring a friend along.”

“What?” Prompto shot up, and he reached over to snatch his phone back from Noct's clutches. He furrowed his eyebrows, read the text message twice over. “You're right. Oh! You, uh, you'd really be okay with coming with me?”

“Duh. It's a potluck. I'm always up for food.”

They spent three days looking up party foods, mostly at Prompto’s frantic insistence: “Dude, I can’t be the one guy who just brings the crappy off-brand chips and shitty dip.” Finally, Noctis took matters into his own hands and decided for Prompto, one hand dragging the blonde out for grocery shopping, the other pulling up a lasagna recipe on his phone.

“Ugghhh. Can’t you just use your magic and just, magically make some kind of one-food-satisfies-all sort of thing?” Prompto groaned, reading the label on a jar of tomato sauce. He tossed two in the shopping cart, then threw in another just in case.

“Technically, I could.” Noctis pushed the cart along, grabbing a few bottles of dried spices. “But you never filled out the ‘Stellarian Make-A-Wish Form’ and that takes four to six business days to get to me. And we definitely have less than four days to get this thing cooked up.”

“What. I didn’t know I had to sign _forms!_ And business days? Dude, _you’re right here.”_

“Sorry, Noctis the Stellarian isn’t here right now. Please call again during normal business hours or leave a message after the beep.” Noctis walked off, leaving the cart behind. He never even said beep.

_“Nooooooct!”_

 

 

 

They had managed to make two large pans of lasagna, and it tasted pretty damn good in Prompto’s opinion. (Noctis’ opinion didn’t count, since he could eat practically anything, aside from his aversion to vegetables.) Better yet, they had managed to keep the kitchen intact, only burning one mitten and two hand towels. With the food out of the way, the only thing left was _what the fuck was he going to wear._

Prompto was going to be late, and oh gods, his anxiety was spiking. He never asked Gladio if the dress code was casual or formal wear, and he wasn’t going to take his chances with guessing ugly sweater party. He rummaged through his dressers and tossed shirts and pants all over the bed and floor, only pausing to press a shirt against his chest and stand in front of the mirror every few minutes. He should have been out ten minutes ago, but here he was freaking out over what sweater to wear, and he was pretty sure being late would make for bad first impressions. It was a vicious cycle.

Noctis stood by the bedroom door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, when he rolled his eyes and sighed. He stepped through the whirlwind of clothes scattered all over the place, and stooped to pick up a long-sleeved shirt. Wordlessly, he shoved it in Prompto’s hands and manhandled the blonde out of the way, pulling out a pair of black slacks from the dresser. “Go, change. Now,” he ordered.

“Yeah, but —”

“Chill, Prom. It’s not like you’re meeting the King of Lucis or anything. So just change already.”

 

Noctis was a filthy _liar._

 

 

 

Surprisingly, they made it to the Amicitia manor with three minutes to spare. Prompto had expected security checks or battle-hardened guards standing watch from lookout towers, maybe a couple black guard dogs too. So when he pressed a finger to the intercom and offered his name and reason for visitation, he was taken back when the gates opened only seconds after, with no vicious attack dog or security uniform in sight. Noctis looked a little too smug, who had listened to Prompto’s over speculation and frenzied rants, and sauntered right on in.

Prompto followed at his heels, and was greeted by cheery instrumental music and all sorts of tantalizing aromas, a blend of spices he’s never smelled before. He zeroed in on the long tables topped with food, some brought in tupperware or actual plates. It was reassuring to see aluminum trays lining the tables; he and Noctis brought in their lasagna in aluminum pans, too, and he had worried that maybe they should have splurged on those ceramic pans instead. They managed to find an empty spot for their dishes, though Noctis had to subtly rearrange a few plates around to make room for the tight fit.

“Hey, Prompto!” That gruff voice was unmistakable, but so was the hand that clamped itself on Prompto’s shoulder, nearly jostling him. “Good to see you made it.”

“Oh, hey, Gladio. Thanks for inviting me,” Prompto chirped, as if he hadn’t been rattled with anxiety and stress for nearly a week. He waved a hand over Noctis. “I brought a friend with me, if that’s cool.”

“Nah, you’re good. I _did_ say you could bring one,” he said to Prompto, before turning his attention to Noctis. “I’m Gladiolus, but call me Gladio.”

“Noctis. Just Noct’s good. You’re Clarus’ son, yeah?”

“Yep, son of the _Shield_ and all that.” Gladio paused a moment, an amused smile ghosting over his lips. “Noctis, like… the Stellarian?”

“Noctis, _exactly_ like the Stellarian,” Noctis replied, ignoring the way Prompto coughed.

“Huh. Bet you get teased about that a lot.”

“You get used to it,” he said with a wry grin, throwing a sidelong glance to his friend.

It was mostly smooth sailing from there, despite Prompto’s prior apprehension but according to Noctis’ reassurances — which came in comforting whispers and light hand squeezes. However, they didn’t seem to escape the hawk-ish gaze of one Ignis Scientia, who gave them a knowing look and a tilt of the lips over the rim of his wine glass. Even Gladio the musclehead noticed, nudging Prompto with his elbow and blowing a low whistle. It wasn’t like they were trying to be inconspicuous anyway; having been caught, Noctis laughed and gave them a full view of a smack of lips on a freckled cheek, at the price of Prompto’s flushed embarrassment.

Prompto still wasn’t sure what was going on between them, and Noctis gave no indication of his own. It had been casual flirting here, an offhand comment there, and somehow it turned into little shared kisses on the cheek or forehead. What he did know, however, was that he enjoyed it and wanted to see where things would take them. It was a little awkward to be caught sharing their affections, especially when he himself was still trying to process his own feelings about them, but it filled him with a tingly warmth all the same.

And it was almost enough to ignore a familiar, unsettling gaze that bore through the back of his skull. No matter how many cups of eggnog he downed, Prompto would always know what that sort of look was; he had been on the receiving end of it for far too long to _not_ know. It was the judgmental stare of a stuck-up noble, the prejudice of a narrow mind — or in this case, the animosity of a Crownsguard official. Having had enough and feeling his confidence bolstered by the buzz of alcohol, Prompto turned to see who was glaring daggers at him, to find who the burning gaze belonged to. The uniform screamed Crownsguard, his face the same stern expression of a military man ready to snap and bark, and Prompto had immediately turned back around the second he saw that scowl. Okay, so maybe he regretted looking just a little.

But he managed to get on, because out of sight, out of mind and all that, yeah? He could still feel the little pin pricks as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at guard, could feel the barb wired glances given his way, but as the hour wore on, he managed to relax until the perpetual stare melted like the ice in his punch, into nothing but a distant reminder. The man had seemed satisfied to just shoot scowls at Prompto, which he was able to fare with and mostly ignore, and nothing had happened so far. Not to mention he was in the Amicitia household, so surely he was safe. No one would want to start a fight in the Shield’s home, right?

Wrong.

“What do you think _you’re_ doing here?”

Prompto had returned to the punch bowl to refill his drink, leaving Noctis to carry on with Ignis and Gladio. And yeah, that probably wasn’t a good idea, to present himself vulnerable as a lone target.

Prompto set his cup on the table and turned to stand face-to-face with the Crownsguard who had been shooting metaphorical knives at him for the past hour-ish. And maybe it was the liquid courage that was in the punch and eggnog that had Prompto puffing out his chest, but _damn it_ , he was at a party and enjoying himself for once! He really did not need some asshole bursting his bubble.

“I’m getting punch, what does it look like?” Prompto huffed, gesturing to the very obvious bright red of the glass bowl.

“Sure you’re not planning on poisoning us, Niff?” The Crownsguard scoffed, eyes narrowing in suspicion and scorn. “Wouldn’t doubt it if you poisoned the food either.”

Okay. This was guy was hella rude. Their lasagna was actually good — he and Noct worked very hard on that, for his information.

He opened his mouth in protest, to point out they suffered a burnt mitten to get the damn pan out of the oven, to point out all the hard work and mess that had gone into it, until Noctis came over, planting himself between Prompto and the asshat Crownsguard.

“You got issues with my lasagna?” Noctis crossed his arms across his chest, his chin tilted up. Prompto couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure there was a scowl on his face. He also couldn’t help the vindictive glee in his chest.

“I got issues with the Niff here, not you, kid. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Sure he does. He got an invitation from the Amicitia over there,” he said, motioning a hand to Gladio, who was looking in their direction with concern, ready to intervene. “And besides, you got an issue with Prompto, you got an issue with me.”

“Look, kid. You’re better off not hanging around Niffs —”

“I’m not a kid,” Noctis practically growled. Though Noct was technically right, Prompto figured his looks… Kinda barely passed as an adult though.

“And I can do what I want, so don’t you tell me what to do.” Noctis jabbed a sharp finger into the Crownsguard chest. At this point, Gladio and some other man — ‘ _Oh shit, is that Clarus Amicitia_?!’ Prompto silently screamed — were making their way over. But they would be too slow.

“Watch yourself, _kid_ , or you'll be seeing stars,” the Crownsguard hissed. His shoulders tensed, and Prompto could see the faint lines of muscle tightening. This was so not good. He could feel the stare and attention focused on them, the worried murmurs and hushed whispers. He wished he had refilled his glass so he had punch to swallow down all this tension he was surely going to choke on.

“Oh, yeah?” Noctis snarled, bristling like an angry cat, Prompto imagined, with his curled up fingers and stiff white knuckles. He saw Noctis’ head twitch, jerk ever so slightly to his left, when Prompto caught a glimpse of a foreboding smirk. He followed Noctis’ line of sight, and it took every ounce of steel willpower to not scream.

Because standing right there was King Regis Lucis Fucking Caelum.

Prompto felt his eyes bulge from his skull, as the blood drained from his face to be replaced with ice cold water. Oh, Six. He was breathing, right? In, out? He could barely hear the rush of blood in his ears, too busy internally screaming into the void and all that.

‘ _Chill, he said! You’re not gonna meet the King of Lucis, he said. It’s gonna be fun, he said!’_ Whoever told him gods didn’t lie needed to go check themself.

He barely caught onto Noctis, too busy freaking out over literal royalty over there to stop him when he heard That Tone in his voice.

“Well, guess what?” Noctis had dropped his knees slightly. And with all the fury of a burning star, he _slammed_ his fist up into the Crownsguard’s jaw in a brutal uppercut before either of them had time to blink. Prompto was pretty sure there was a kungfu movie with a similar title. Fist of the — South? West? — Star or something. It was over as quickly as it had started, and the body dropped in a skin-crawling thump.

“ _Twinkle twinkle, motherfucker_.”

Noctis shook his wrist, grimacing lightly from the impact. But it was quickly replaced with a shit-eating grin when he turned his gaze back to King Regis, who looked pretty damn chill despite witnessing someone knock out his Crownsguard, as opposed to the panic rising in Prompto’s own chest.

“Hey, Reggie. Long time no see,” Noctis all but laughed, who was way too calm about all of this.  

A flash of confusion and irritation passed over the King’s face, but it quickly melted into shocked realization then mild exasperation. Prompto was still too stunned to think of anything, but he could have sworn there was a hint of fondness in the man’s eyes.

By the time Gladio kneeled beside the Crownsguard, Clarus moved in on Noctis, taking long strides with a definite purpose. Prompto almost threw an arm out to shield Noctis behind him, to point out that the Crownsguard was being an ass and Noctis was just defending him so could he please just —

“Clarus, stand down. It’s alright,” King Regis ordered. Clarus stopped dead in his tracks, hand left in mid-air as he was just about to grab Noctis. Regis ignored the unconscious guard and walked up to the Astral, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Nearly twenty years, Noctis, and not a single hello. I must say, you know how to make an entrance.”

Prompto briefly remembered his first meeting with Noct’s shoe. Yeah, that had been an entrance alright.

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” Noctis shrugged and glanced over at Prompto, then past him at the tables behind. “Want to try our lasagna?” he asked the King.

“If I did not know any better, I would leap at the opportunity. But having past experiences with your cooking, I do think I prefer living. I’ve a kingdom to run, after all.”

“Hey!” Noctis interjected, smiling.

Still, the two laughed as if they had been old friends, ignoring the confused and slightly terrified faces around them. But knowing Noctis’ long, _long_ history, Prompto didn’t doubt they truly had a bond.

He didn’t notice the King’s attention on him until Noctis nudged him on the shoulder. “Eh? What?”

“Prompto Argentum, was it?” King Regis asked.

“U-uh, yeah!” he stammered, feeling the pressure of the King’s gaze. Then he quickly added, “Your Majesty.” He couldn’t believe he was talking to the King, not to mention he even remembered Prompto’s name. And also not to mention, he was still not over the fact he had shaken his hand all those months ago, on the day he first arrived in Insomnia.

“I would love to hear how you met dear Noctis over here, whenever you’d be willing.”

“Noct? Um, yeah! Totally! Er, Your Grace.”

King Regis chuckled, deep and warm, and merely nodded. “Now, let’s try that lasagna, hm? You, too, Clarus! If I die of food poisoning, we die together.”

“Your Majesty, _please,”_ the Shield sighed.

 

 

 

Prompto never really figured how it happened or when it all started. But one snowy morning, when he woke up to Noct's sleeping face and terrible bed hair, he was suddenly struck with a revelation.

_‘Huh. I love this man,’_ he thought. It was weird. He expected metaphorical fireworks and the heavy beating of his heart with that dizzying blood rush, waited for it with silent expectancy and _any minute now_.

But nothing came.

Two minutes, then five minutes. Ten. Nothing. Instead, he was left with the soft knowledge of his feelings, the gentle warmth that settled in his stomach as he watched Noctis and the slow rise of his chest with each steady breath. And this warmth, it was nothing new; it had been there for well over a year now, when his loneliness was replaced by this bright little star. And not even a month ago, Gladio and Ignis had referred to Prompto as their _friend_.

There were no grand explosions, no sparks of passion and heated kisses stolen between short, frenzied breaths. It had come silently. Like the slow rise of the morning’s light streaming in through the window, like the lazy snowfall covering Insomnia, settling so gently that he wouldn’t know how much had piled up unless he drew back the curtains and looked out into the heart of the city.

Prompto closed his eyes and smiled into his pillow, snuggling a bit closer to his favorite little star, and drifted back to sleep, falling to the comfort of knowing everything would work out, that everything already had. And Noctis, still deep in his sleep, responded to the shift and threw a cold leg over Prompto’s, eliciting a quiet breathy laugh.

Yeah, everything would be just fine.

 

 

 

**Bonus**

“So, you look pretty good. Older, but still good.” Noctis said over the rim of his glass.

Regis resisted the urge to roll his eyes and to fall back to his younger years of bantering and snickering, to the days of his youth spent with the Astral. “Yes. Well, ageing does that to mortals, Noctis. I would like to say the same to you, except you’ve gotten… Younger.”

He almost hadn’t recognized Noctis, when he watched the younger man knock his Crownsguard off his feet. He had felt the flames of angry retribution and indignation ignite, until that age-old smirk caught him off guard, when he recognized that smile, that specific tilt of the lips, but he couldn’t place it — not until he saw that set of steel-blue eyes that seemed to hide all the world’s stars behind them.

After all those years, Regis never expected to see him again. Ever. And especially not in Clarus’ home. Yet here they were again, sitting by the fireplace with plates of lasagna and glasses of champagne, basking in each other’s company as they had done in what seemed like a lifetime ago. (The lasagna was, surprisingly, quite good.)

“You were an older man, back in my youth. I almost failed to recognize you.”

Noctis was a bit taller, back then, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and age lines that looked to add wisdom around his eyes. Regis, being but a boy back then, had looked up to the god, for when his own father was absent in his royal duties as King. For when he had wished for a _father,_ someone who could actually spare more than ten minutes a day for his son.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Daddy Noct,’” Noctis snorted. “Apparently that’s what I’m called nowadays, when I look like that. Y'know, you never actually called me dad.”

Young Regis had never gotten over that strange pride-ego-dignity trinity that teenage boys tended to have, and refused to call Noctis any version of the word “father” despite his wish being just that. They both knew he had been the closest thing to what a father should actually be, but those times were gone; however, Regis now saw a dear old friend instead. Plus, it'd just be downright _weird_ for a grown man to call a younger one his dad.

“As I am aware.” Regis earned an incredulous look, to which he responded, “I know how to use the internet, Noctis.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird hearing that from you,” Noctis mumbled around his fork. He looked to the fireplace, the flames dancing in the dark of his eyes. “Time sure flies, huh, Reggie? You used to be so small. Now look at you.” He gently placed his fork down, lightly clinking against the ceramic, meeting his gaze with Regis’. “You grew into a fine king.”

They let a comfortable silence fall over them, save for the crackle of wood and the cheery music playing in the distance. Clarus had made sure the two could get their own little space, away from the rest of the party.

Finally, Regis spoke up again. “I never properly thanked you for granting my wishes.”

“Don’t mention it. All I did was get the ball rolling. You’re the one who pushed it to the finish line. Now look.” Noctis nodded over behind them, where Ignis was trying (and failing) to teach Prompto a proper waltz. “You finally got peace for your kingdom, even after the mess your father left behind.”

“Still. If it weren’t for your hand in all this—”

“Reggie, stop, you’ll make me blush,” he said wryly. “But, uh, sorry that it took so long. Had a hard time coming to a compromise. Don’t tell him I told you, but” — Noctis leaned in, and Regis mimicked the gesture — “I had a little argument with Bahamut. He kept insisting that Lucis wipe Niflheim out first, declare war and all that. Heck, that’s part of why Shiva’s doing her thing over there still, to soften them up and make the fight easier. It’s kinda hard to convince the god of war to _not_ go to war, you know?”

“Ah. So Bahamut.”

“Yep.”

It was Regis’ turn to gaze into the fireplace. “I suppose you were right along,” he said after a brief moment. He turned to look back at Noctis in the eye and smiled with all the kingly grace he could muster.

“Bahamut is indeed, as you had put it, a fuckboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist: This was all a setup for Noctis to say “Twinkle twinkle motherfucker” ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyway, i hope you guys enjoyed this. I know i did lol  
> Also i love regis. and bahamut can eat my butt


End file.
